


the more it took away

by SageMasterofSass



Category: House M.D.
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha!Wilson, Alternate Universe, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Heat Fic, Heat Sex, M/M, Omega!House, Painful Heat, Sappiness, Unsafe Sex, brief graphic depictions of pain, canon timeline what's that??, house honestly shouldn't be allowed to make medical decisions when it comes to himself lets be real, i don't know her, its completely consensual tho, mentions of child abuse, sort of anyways lmao, versatile couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 04:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15235602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: House has been hiding this little secret of his foryears. Too bad it's coming back to bite him on the ass.





	the more it took away

**Author's Note:**

> here I am, a fuckin decade late to the party. figures i always get into shows long after they're over and the fandoms seem pretty dead. Still!! i'll write anyways lmao 
> 
> anyways, i cannot BELIEVE there isn't more abo fic for House. i'm appalled honestly, so of course i had to fix the problem myself. i was tempted to just make house a bratty omega to begin with, but decided i wanted to go a more angsty route instead. still might write the bratty thing tho. maybe w/ some omega seduction and wilson being rly confused about what's happening

It starts with a completely random hot flash that hits him in the middle of doing rounds in the clinic. Normally, he doesn’t mind having an excuse to get out of clinic work. He loves it, in fact. What he doesn’t love is getting struck by dizziness and heat so intense that he stumbles and knocks into a wall, cane nearly slipping out from under his weight.

 

“Dr. House?” one of the nurses asks. “Are you okay?”

 

He waves her off with a hand that feels too heavy, and tries to control his breathing. It feels like boiling water is being poured over his head, trickling down his limbs, his stomach clenching and roiling in his gut. Sweat breaks out on his brow but slowly the heat fades, until he’s just shaky and breathing hard. There’s something heavy and hot low in his abdomen that stays there even when he finally pulls away from the wall and heads for the clinic exit. The one to the parking lot, not to the rest of the hospital.

 

He stops to grab his bag from the nurses station and the same nurse from before looks up in surprise as he goes to leave.“Dr. House!” she says. “You have a patient in room five!”

 

“Give him some ibuprofen and an ice pack, it’s a fucking sprained ankle,” he yells over his shoulder. Several patients in the hall stare at him in shock but he hasn’t cared before and he certainly doesn’t care now.

 

What he does care about is his nausea and in the pain in his thigh, a pounding, pulsing familiarity that loves to pop up whenever anything else in his body goes wrong. Headache? Thigh pain. Cold? Thigh pain. Jammed thumb, toothache, fucking splinter? Thigh pain.

 

He pops a Vicodin or two and heads for his bike already day dreaming about his couch and the cold beer in his fridge. It’s only 4, but he’s hot and sweaty and he’s going the fuck home to ignore all of that.

 

The hot flash is fairly familiar. Pump yourself full of enough drugs and eventually your body starts to rebel. His body is in a constant state of rebellion, fighting him at every possible fucking turn. Cause it’s a dumb bitch. And also he’s on a lot of drugs.

 

Hours later Wilson finds House watching reruns of General Hospital and ignoring his mostly full beer on the coffee table because the first sip made his stomach roll and he’s kind of angry about it. So the Vicodin went down with no problem but he can’t even enjoy something to wet his whistle? Fucking ridiculous.

 

Wilson glances at him on the couch, closes the door with a sigh, and heads straight for the kitchen. “Did you eat?” he calls, standing in front of the fridge and loosening his tie with one hand. His silhouette is tall and lean, crisp in the sharp lines of his suit even after a full day of work. The perfect alpha. Every beta and omega in the entire hospital swoons over him, day in and day out, talks about his soft voice and kind nature, the kind of alpha disposition that ensures a healthy, happy family. This is usually followed up by speculation on how wonderfully aggressive he must be in bed. He’s had three omega wives after all. There’s no way he doesn’t know what every omega needs; a hard, dominant fuck and a heavy hand to put them in place and then soothe them afterwards.

 

It’s all complete bullshit but House seems to the be only one who knows that. Of course, he’s been friends with Wilson for over a decade so that might have something to do with it, but every single one of Wilson’s marriages have failed because he’s a goddamn sap. The man prefers to refer to sex as ‘making love’. There’s nothing aggressive about him. Unless he’s aggressively trying to take care of someone. Or dealing with House, but House has always been something of a special case. That’s the other reason the marriages have failed; House. Wilson is simply too willing to drop everything and come running whenever he calls.

 

“House?” The voice filters through his thoughts, and he jerks his head toward the sound. Wilson is standing over him, looking concerned.

 

Add a little bit of mental fog to the hot flashes and that growing pressure under his navel.

 

“What?” he snaps.

 

Wilson just blinks at him, completely unaffected. His tie is loose around his neck and his hair is falling in his face. “I asked if you’d eaten.”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay,” Wilson says, already turning away. “I’ll make some dinner then.”

 

House watches him a moment, narrow-eyed and contemplative, then mutters, “Don’t bother. I’m going to bed.” He’s already got his cane and is hobbling down the hallway when Wilson turns back around.

 

“What? You’re not going to eat?”

 

“Not hungry!” he calls, then slams his bedroom door behind him.

 

oOo

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like his entire body is on fire. His skin is oversensitive and damp, the sheets grating against his bare back like burning gravel. No matter how he twists or turns he can’t escape the sensation, his mouth open, drooling, fingers grasping desperately in any kind of attempt to ground himself. His fucking leg feels like it’s trying to tear itself off his body, the pain so intense his vision is blurred and distorted, black dots visible even in the darkness of his bedroom.

 

He has to be making some kind of noise with the way his mouth is hanging open, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s desperately smacking at the bedside table, knocking the lamp over, his alarm clock, until his hand is closing around a familiar bottle that rattles in his shaking fingers.

 

The two pills he tries to swallow get stuck in his throat but he manages to get them down, just before Wilson bursts through the bedroom door, bringing light with him. House’s vision is blurred with unshed tears and pain, pupils too dilated to be able to see correctly, but he can make out messy hair and the short, jerky movements of controlled panic.

 

“Okay,” Wilson’s muttering, even as his fingers search out House’s pulse. The fingers are steady, his voice is not, gaze locked on House’s face. “Okay, what’s happening, talk to me.”

 

Thank fuck the Vicodin works fast. His leg is quieting to a dull roar but his skin is still fever hot. Even Wilson’s touch is almost unbearable. House swears he can feel each and every ridge of his fingerprints, worries they’ll be branded into the underside of his wrist, an indelible mark.  

 

Wilson helps House sit up in the bed, propping him against the headboard as House focuses on slowing his breathing. His bare chest is sweaty and still heaving, his boxers damp and clinging to his legs. He rubs absently at his thigh and blinks dumbly at Wilson as the room finally swims into view.

 

“Fuck,” he rasps, throat sore in a way that suggests he might have been yelling.

 

Wilson lets out a laugh that isn’t in the slight bit amused. “Yeah, you can say that. What the fuck just happened, House?”

 

Rather than answer that, he says, “Back of the bathroom cabinet, magnum box.”

 

Wilson’s eyebrows jump up to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

 

“Bring it here.”

 

“You want me to bring you…condoms.”

 

House gives him the most scathing look he can muster, which is still pretty strong even with watery eyes. “What, you think I want to dick down right now? It doesn’t have condoms in it, moron!”

 

Holding his hands up in surrender, Wilson backs away from the bed. “Alright, alright, no need to get snippy.”

 

“ _ _Snippy__ ,” House sneers, even as Wilson disappears into the bathroom. “I don’t get __snippy.__  I’m in fucking pain.” And terrified by the heaving, burning feeling under his navel where he knows all his reproductive organs lay. The twisting sensation there, like someone has grabbed hold of his insides and is now slowly turning their fist, is one he’s only felt once in his entire life. Once. But it was certainly memorable enough that he’d recognize it again, decades later.

 

Now he just has to kill it. Again.

 

“House?” Wilson’s voice is soft, slightly concerned.

 

“What?” he snaps back because he already knows what’s coming.

 

Sure enough, Wilson appears in the bathroom doorway holding several little orange bottles and staring down at them. The contents of the magnum box House had so painstakingly hidden when Wilson moved in with him. He’s spent so long hiding the secret that squirreling the bottles away had felt completely natural.

 

When Wilson glances up his features are carefully neutral. Whatever he sees on House’s face, probably out right aggression, has him handing the bottles over silently. But his gaze is curious, sharp as he watches House go through the familiar motions of opening each bottle and shaking the pills out.

 

“That’s twice the dosage,” he says after a moment, concerned and chiding.

 

“I’m aware.”

 

“Studies show that any dosage over a hundred milligrams of alpha hormones can be really dangerous, and if you’re a beta-”

 

House swallows the pills dry before Wilson can get out any more, then growls, “’m not a beta.”

 

That doesn’t seem to appease Wilson in the slightest. “That’s even worse! Dosing yourself up on extra hormones is dangerous for alphas too. You should know this, House, it’s worse than taking street steroids.”

 

Wincing as he moves to set the bottles aside, House doesn’t bother deigning that with a response. Because it’s stupid. And Wilson is a fucking idiot if he’s not seeing the truth yet.

 

“You should get out of my room,” he says instead, even as settling back against the headboard sets off whole new aches across his body. His back, his hips, the throbbing of internal organs trying to rearrange themselves for the perfect baby carrying position. Ha. He’s spent so long poisoning his body it’d be a goddamn miracle if he isn’t already completely sterile.

 

“House you woke me up screaming, and now you’re…you’re what? Taking hormone supplements meant for trans patients undergoing transitioning? Wait. Are you trans? Did I just misgender you calling you a beta, is that what you meant?”

 

House stares him like he’s a fucking idiot because that’s what he is. “I’m not trans,” he says after a moment, slowly, like he’s talking to a child. “I’m a-” The word sticks in his throat. It won’t fucking move.

 

“You’re what?”

 

He has to look away from those searching eyes before he can manage to mutter grudgingly, “I’m an omega.”

 

There’s a pause, a soft exhalation air. Honestly House is expecting some kind of explosion. Alpha to beta and beta to alpha aren’t completely unheard of trans identities. But omegas? Oh no, they don’t get the privilege of being trans, dubious as that privilege may be. None of the drugs meant for betas and alphas have even been tested on omegas. Not that there aren’t trans omegas, one way or another, but there are no omega hormone supplements for others to take to mimic the omega experience, and omegas are next to forbidden to take any kind of body altering drug because of their ‘fragile’ systems. House being on alpha hormones is untested, unverified, and would give most doctors a coronary.

 

Instead, Wilson makes a noise like maybe he’s scenting the air to try and see if he can’t pick up any hint of omega pheromones. House finally looks back up to glare at him for that one. Rude as fuck. “I’m on enough alpha hormones to bulk up a horse, and you think you can pick up a scent on me?”

 

Wilson at least has the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry I’m just...trying to figure this out. So you’re an omega. But you’re taking alpha hormones. And you’re not trans? How on earth have I known you this long but not known any of this? And what on earth made you think this was a good idea?”

 

“We both know I’m a fantastic liar,” House quips, ignoring the more pressing question entirely. It occurs to him he might need to feel awkward with Wilson sitting on the edge of his bed, House himself half naked and starting to chill now that the hot flash has passed. He’s got one hand idly kneading his thigh, the other resting just below his navel, above his boxers, putting gentle pressure where he’s cramping. Not to mention the whole spilling the biggest secret of his life thing. The secret that was nearly beaten into him as a child, that changed the course of his entire life, that he’d checked himself out of a hospital early for to ensure none of the doctors there figured it out. He should definitely be worried about that.

 

But he’s not worried. He’s tired and in pain and trying to ignore the warning signs of an oncoming heat that he’s only ever experienced once. But not worried.

 

Wilson’s brow is knotted in concern and confusion, eyes gentle. “So why the hormones then?” No, ‘you told me you were an alpha’ no ‘you lied to me for years’ no accusations or guilt. Acceptance. Weariness, perhaps. Maybe that’s why House isn’t worried.

 

Still, he makes a big show of sighing and rolling the tight muscles in his shoulders, trying to crack his neck. Like none of this is Wilson’s business and telling him is tedious. “Daddy dearest never wanted an omega son,” he says dryly. “By the time I got out of his house the hormones had already altered my body.”

 

Wilson’s lips thin, but whatever anger he’s feeling doesn't seem to be directed at House. “So you decided to stay on them.”

 

“I decided I’d rather deal with a few more pills each day than try and change the course my biology was taking,” he counters waspishly.

 

“Your parents forced you to be a gender you weren’t. It’s like the reverse of every trans horror story.”

 

That makes something hot flash through House, or maybe it’s just the heat symptoms. “Oh don’t go getting your moral panties in a knot,” he snaps. “It’s over and done with.”  

 

“You call this done with?” Wilson counters, gesturing to the pill bottles scattered across the bedside table.

 

“I call it maintaining the status quo.”

 

“Maintaining the status quo would be going __off__ the hormones and allowing your body to readjust! And what’s with this…the waking up screaming, sweating, night terror business?”

 

“Not a night terror,” House argues, and really wishes he had the energy or inclination to climb out of bed on his own. But he doubts his leg would hold his weight right now and Wilson, the jerk, is in the way. “I’m just having some latent heat symptoms. The hormones should take care of it.”

 

“House.” Wilson’s voice is calm and serious now, solemn. “When was the last time you had a heat?”

 

You know, he really doesn’t have to deal with this. This is his own damn apartment. His bedroom, his fucking bed. House starts scooting towards the other side of the mattress. It leaves his cane across the room but he can hobble. Maybe.

 

“House!” Wilson snaps. “I’m serious, when was the last time you had a heat?”

 

“Oh first you think I want to fuck because of a few condoms, and now you think you can get the dirty deets of my sex life?”

 

“You know that’s not what I’m interested in.”

 

House is almost to the edge of the bed when Wilson rounds the mattress, blocking his escape route. Him and his stupid legs, both of which actually work properly.

 

“You’re an alpha, I’m an omega, of course you’re interested in my sex life,” House deflects. And if the words are a bit bitter, it’s because Wilson is forcing him to try and shuffle __back__ across the mattress in order to run away. This time, he manages to move a little faster and then lunge for his cane. Wilson tries to block him again, but House holds the cane up defensively, completely unafraid to smack his friend upside the head with it.

 

“House, seriously.”

 

“I’m serious too. Come any closer and I’ll whack you.”

 

“I’m sure you will, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I want to help you.”

 

When Wilson doesn’t make a move to come any closer, House finally lowers the cane so he can actually use it to try and stand. Sure enough, his leg hurts like death but luckily there’s an easy solution for that. He swipes a few more Vicodin then grabs a shirt that’s rumpled on the floor, half under the bed. A sniff test reveals it to be tolerable so he pulls it on.

 

“House, please.” God, that tone is just so __earnest__.

 

House rolls his eyes and neck in the same movement, fixing Wilson with a dry, unimpressed look. “I’ve only ever had one heat. There, are you satisfied Dr. Wilson? Do you have some magic cure for me now?”

 

Wilson visibly blanches, even as House shoulders past him, limping heavily as he heads for the kitchen. He manages to reach the fridge before Wilson follows after him. “What do you mean __one!?__  Please tell me your only heat isn’t the one you got when you presented.”

 

House picks his head up out of the fridge to peer over the door. He shrugs his shoulders lamely, lips pursing. “Sorry, can’t do that.” Then he ducks back in, scrounging around for that Chinese takeout he knows he hid somewhere in here. If living with Wilson has taught him one thing, its to hide his food. The man is a vacuum and an unrepentant one at that.

 

“That’s…that’s terrible, House! Even going on heat suppressants for over a year is risky for omegas, and you’re telling me that you’ve, what, gone __decades__ without going through a heat? Not even one?”

 

Asshole must have gotten to it already. House sighs and slams the fridge door shut, leveling Wilson with his best unimpressed look. “I thought you were an oncologist, not an omega specialist.”

 

Wilson’s lips purse tightly, and there’s color on his cheeks now. Interesting. He must really be getting himself worked up over this, which is ironic considering he wasn’t the one waking up to blinding pain and heat.

 

“How long do you think the hormones are going to put off your symptoms?”

 

House thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “Don’t know. There aren’t exactly any studies to consult.”

 

“How about experience then. Has this ever happened before?”

 

“Nope.” House pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously then turns away to rummage through the cupboard. There’s a box of cookies back here- oh yeah, there they are, come to daddy. .

 

“House.” A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, hot even through the fabric of House’s grungy t-shirt. He turns around, shaking it loose, and leans back against the counter top so he can tap his cane threateningly against Wilson’s shins.

 

Wilson doesn’t back up though. In fact, he grabs House’s cane in one hand and pushes it off to the side, and steps __closer.__ Which is just…a bad idea. This close House is catching his scent, something that’s never really bothered him before, but is now making his eyes cross a little. It’s a warm scent, like laundry, tinged with the antiseptic the hospital uses, and a dose of alpha that House has never really noticed.

 

His mouth falls open of it’s own accord, and then he’s pushing against Wilson’s shoulder, one hand coming up to cover his nose as he hisses, “Back up, back up, back __up,__  damn you!”

 

The look of determination on Wilson’s face dissolves into confusion, and then horrified understanding as he quickly takes a step back. “Oh, shit, sorry, is it my pheromones?”

 

House nods from behind his hand and then focuses on taking several, deep breaths of alpha-free air. Only, now that he’s aware of the scent, he can’t be __un__ aware. And Wilson lives here. His scent is on __everything__. Sure, it’s not as strong when he’s standing a few feet away versus right up in House’s personal bubble. But it’s still __there__ , all around, and that hot place under House’s navel is burning now.

 

He lets his hand fall away from his face and braces himself against the counter. One breath in, one out. Wilson is saying his name, but his scent is everywhere and House feels like his head is spinning. And then something clicks. He swears he can actually feel the moment it happens, like someone turning off a light. Or maybe shattering the light-bulb with a baseball bat because it is __intense__.

 

“Oh fuck,” he says, even as he starts to sag to the floor, his body burning, his pelvis throbbing with a sudden, violent staccato. “I think I’m going into heat.”

 

Wilson is right there in front of him, snapping his fingers to try and get House to focus. When it takes more than a few seconds his expression goes grim.

 

“Alright,” he says with finality, “I’m taking you to the hospital. There’s no telling what this heat is going to do to you.”

 

House grabs his wrist before he can pull away. His vision is swaying but he still grits his teeth and growls, “No!”

 

“House, you can’t stand, your skin is flushed, breathing and heartbeat elevated-”

 

“All typical of a heat,” House grinds back. He shakes his head, gets himself to focus a little better, sit up straight, look Wilson in the eye. “I cannot go to the hospital, do you understand me? My parents registered me as an alpha.”

 

Understanding sparks in Wilson’s eyes. If the government were to find out his parents falsified information like that, and that later House never attempted to get it fixed, even at the cost of his own parents? Well.

 

“But we-” he tries, weakly.

 

House cuts him off before he can even finish. “We don’t have a fancy facility, but I know you keep your med kit well stocked and I trust you to administer anything I might need.”

 

Wilson stares at him, gaze searching, before giving a resigned sigh. “I don’t have enough sedatives to keep you down the entire time. You’re going to need to find an alpha to…to help you through the worst of it.”

 

Silence for a long drawn out moment, until House cocks an eyebrow.

 

Wilson squints at him, then his eyes go wide. “Me? You can’t be serious!”

 

“You’re an alpha aren’t you? And I’m omega. The rest is just high school biology.”

 

Wilson splutters but House isn’t focusing on him anymore, is instead grabbing for his cane and trying to get his feet under him. He’s still disoriented and that damn throbbing is definitely still going on. He’ll probably get hard soon, and if he isn’t producing slick already he’ll- oh wait, he shifts and yup. There it is, smearing down the back of his thigh. He can feel the fabric of his boxers sticking to it and grimaces.

 

Fucking alpha hormones. Not doing their job properly. If Wilson weren’t here he’d just down the entire bottle and hope for the best, but Wilson would actually agree to fuck him before he let House do that. Which he’s going to have to anyways. Fuck him, that is, not let House drug himself to the gills.

 

“I’m going to go lay down,” House announces over whatever Wilson is saying. “You get ready,” he says, flapping a hand in general at the kitchen. “Get your kit and any provisions we’ll need.”

 

Wilson looks rather panicked but House doesn’t stop to reassure him, is already limping out of the kitchen. Damn, he forgot the cookies. Oh well, bigger fish to fry and all that.

 

First he heads to the bathroom and grabs all the spare towels and sheets he owns, which isn’t a lot considering he can carry them all and still use his cane no problem. He spends several minutes stretching them over the bed as best he can. He’ll be damned if the scent of his heat seeps into this mattress. It’s one thing to stain it with cum or blood, it’s another to get slick all over it.

 

That done, he clumsily strips and throws himself down on all that soft fabric. It still feels rough against his skin, but not like being dragged over gravel like when he’d first woken up.

 

He can still feel himself producing slick. It’s foreign and familiar all at once, disorienting enough that he has to close his eyes and focus on the sound of Wilson banging around the apartment to stop himself from thinking he’s in his childhood bedroom again. When that doesn’t work he digs his fingers into the ruined muscle of his thigh until it sparks bright and hot with pain and he can relax again.

 

Minutes, hours, days later, he hears the bedroom door open. Wilson makes this noise, this little high pitched sound of surprise.

 

House slits his eyes open, glancing down the long planes of his own body. At some point he’d gotten hard without realizing it and his cock is heavy and red, arched up against his stomach. He definitely doesn’t wear magnum condoms, but he’s also bigger than the average beta. Probably all the hormones.

 

Wilson, still standing by the door, arms full of supplies, clears his throat. “Uh, I see the um, heat, is setting in.”

 

House closes his eyes again and sighs. “No shit.”

 

For a few moments there’s only a bit of rustling around the bedroom, presumably Wilson putting things away. His voice breaks it again, slightly strained but calmer than before. “Would you like to be sedated for the start? You might wake up in the middle of the worst of it. Otherwise, we can...induce, the heat further, and I can sedate you afterwards.”

 

House considers it for a second but his answer comes pretty quickly. “Don’t,” he says simply.

 

“...Don’t?”

 

“Don’t sedate me.”

 

The bed dips under Wilson’s weight, right next to House’s head. He turns towards it, eyes barely opening so he can peer up at the looming face of his best friend. Wilson’s pupils are dilated and his breathing is heavier than usual. Interesting.

 

“Are you sure?” Wilson asks quietly. “You haven’t had a heat in a long time, House. This one is going to be intense. If I were your doctor I’d suggest sedating you through the entire thing.”

 

“Well it’s a good thing you’re not my doctor.”

 

That earns him a small huff of laughter, even if it is followed by a more somber, “Why though?”

 

House shrugs as best he can while lying down. “Why not? I’m getting old, might as well experience one while I can, right?”

 

“So you chose this one,” Wilson says, deadpan now. “The one that’s going to be incredibly intense after decades of not having a heat. And you chose me to see you through it.”

 

House considers that. He didn’t really choose Wilson, Wilson’s just the person who happened to be the closest when everything started happening. But would he have chosen his best friend had circumstances been different? He has options. Not a lot, but a few. There’s Cuddy for instance, she’s an alpha. A real alpha’s alpha too, the kind who probably likes to tie her omegas up and have them begging.

 

Even just the thought has House shuddering though. The idea of being forced to submit to someone, forced to present, and be dominated, be put down on his knees? It makes his stomach curl and his knees simultaneously beg for the impact of hitting the floor. Well, metaphorically. That would hurt like a bitch. God, his instincts are fucked up though. Not quite alpha, not quite omega, yet somehow a twisted version of both and all House all the time.

 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I did pick you.”

 

The bed shifts again. Wilson is laying down next to him, head propped up on his arm so he can look House in the face and also probably ignore House’s cock still dripping pre-cum on his stomach. Nothing he can do to get away from the pheromones now, if the dilation of his pupils is an indication. Even House can smell them now, thick and heavy and __off__ from years of hormones. Sour, unappealing, just like House himself.

 

“Why though?” Wilson asks again. “I’ve only ever seen you date beta women, and you could always call Cameron up. Chase, even, if you wanted a beta man.”

 

“Okay, first,” House begins, his nose scrunching in distaste, “I don’t fuck coworkers.” Wilson’s eyebrows shoot up at that, a clear look of ‘you’re kidding, right?’ crossing his face that House magnanimously ignores. “Second, they’re like my pesky little minion children, that’s just gross. You wouldn’t fuck your children would you?”

 

“I don’t have any children,” Wilson responds dryly.

 

“ _ _And third!__ ” House continues over top of him, his voice quieting as Wilson’s jaw snaps shut. “I don’t have a __preference.__ Beta women are just safe when you’re an omega pretending to be an alpha because your parents decided to scam the government. Besides, you’ve been married to three petite omega women, if anyone has a preference here it’s you.”

 

“I do not!” Wilson counters immediately then stops, seems to consider. “Okay, maybe I do. But it’s for omegas in general, not just omega women.”

 

House makes a lewd gesture at his own body in a gesture that basically translates to ‘well here I am, ready for the taking’.

 

“Okay, that’s different,” Wilson tries, voice a little weaker now.

 

It suddenly occurs to House that maybe Wilson doesn’t actually want to do this. That, despite the bulge House can see in the front of his pyjama pants, Wilson might not be completely comfortable with this. Might not __want__ House in that way. It’s not like House is any kind of catch with his crippled leg and bad personality. He doesn’t even want himself.

 

“Oh,” he says, voice softer than he intended. He clears his throat resolutely and then says, more strongly, “You can always just call me a hooker if you don’t want to do this, you know. No need to feel obligated. I’m not into pity fucks, anyways.”

 

Now Wilson just looks down right uncomfortable, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. He’s averting his eyes, addressing the towels pilled under them. “It’s not that, exactly.”

 

House frowns and then carefully, trying not to jostle his legs or his hips or his __anything ,__ turns onto his side so he can see Wilson more clearly. It causes slick to trickle down the curve of his ass and onto the bed and he tries to hide his wince.

 

“What is it then?”

 

Silence, and then, still addressing the bed, “You know, when I first met you, I was really confused.”

 

House snorts. “Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people.”

 

But Wilson just shakes his head, glancing up briefly to meet House’s gaze. “Not like that. I mean, yeah you’re confusing, and annoying, and a down right menace. But I was more confused about…how attracted to you I was. You were an alpha. You said you were, you acted like one, you smelled like one. But I was still drawn to you anyways, even though I’d never, and have still never, been attracted to another alpha. I just chocked it up to you being you.”

 

Wilson’s eyes flicker up again, this time locking onto House’s with intensity. “I never thought I’d actually have a chance with you, is all. You never showed interest in other alphas, so I figured best friend was as good as I was going to get. And yet here you are, throwing me for another goddamn loop like you always do.”

 

It takes House a moment to react, his brain slowed by the heat swimming through his veins. Several emotions flicker through him at once; fear, understanding, surprise, and a blooming affection that’s so strong it’s rather unpleasant.

 

In the end, he narrows his eyes and sets his jaw. “So what, now that I’m an omega I’m on the table?” Remembering his current position, he adds, “Figuratively. The fucking is going to happen.”

 

Wilson’s open expression shutters but doesn’t close off completely, just slips into familiar annoyance. “I wasn’t saying you’re…on the table, so to speak. I just meant this was all surprising, and even sex was more than I ever thought I’d get from you.”

 

Silence. House stares Wilson down, watching with interest as the man falters and then seems to visibly resolve himself, unwilling to back down from the position he’s taken. In the end, House can’t help but let a smirk curl the corner of his mouth up, unable to continue holding the pretense.

 

Wilson’s eyes close and he lets out a quiet huff of air. “I hate when you do that.”

 

House flutters his eyes for dramatic effect and makes a kissy face. “Had to make sure you weren’t just after the bod, baby. There are people who are into damaged goods you know. Cripple kink. You can’t make an honest omega out of me if you’re only interested in the limp.”

 

That earns him a snort, but it also seems to make something loosen around Wilson’s shoulders. His pupils are still dilated but the look he shoots House is fond and exasperated all at once, a look so familiar House swears one of them probably learned it from the other, but he’s not sure who was the one to start it. “Two seconds ago you were trying to let me off the hook, now you’re telling me you want more than just sex?”

 

“I’m telling you I don’t want the hooker treatment.”

 

“God, you can never just say anything out right, can you?”

 

House raises an eyebrow, amused. But the heat is starting to rise up again, bubbling just under his skin, and he was always better at sex than affectionate declarations anyways. “How’s this for outright. Get over here and fuck me because I’m getting close to having to do it myself.”

 

The effect is near instantaneous. One second Wilson is laying comfortable beside him, all warm fabric and somewhat bashful smile, his hair messy with boyish charm. And then he’s hovering over House on all fours, eyes dark, mouth open, pouring off so many pheromones they should be visible in the scant space between them. It’s different from before. Everything Wilson is still present, linen and medicine and warmth, but now it’s overlaid with __want. Sex. Alpha.__ It makes House’s mouth water almost instantly.

 

“Yeah?” Wilson murmurs. His sleep shirt is lose and hanging from his frame, and House finds his hands wandering up inside it almost without his permission.

 

“Yeah,” he breathes in reply, his voice low and gruff. “It’s unbearable. Never been this wet.” His hands are creeping up Wilson’s chest, fingers attracted to the smoothness of the skin and the refreshing coolness of a body not being eaten up by heat.

 

For a moment Wilson’s eyes flutter as he obviously enjoys the touch. But then he leans back and House makes this involuntary noise of loss and pain that instantly has his jaw snapping shut in embarrassment. Wilson is back a second later, sans shirt now, and presses a big, flat palm to House’s cheek.

 

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here.”

 

House doesn’t want to find the words reassuring, wants to find them patronizing even, but they soothe something deep within him even as he snaps, “I’m aware. No need to state the obvious.”

 

Wilson smiles, not put off in the slightest. “Same old House,” he says fondly, and before House can snap at that too, warm lips are pressing against his own. For a moment he resists but then he sighs, lets himself fall into a slow, easy rhythm. It feels natural. It feels right. Soon, it feels like it’s not enough.

 

It’s just a simple kiss, not even any tongue, but House finds his hips pushing up against Wilson anyways, seeking friction. They’re traitorous, those hips. His thigh aches with the effort of driving them up but even rubbing himself against Wilson’s boxer-clad dick isn’t enough for him. He feels empty. Aching.

 

Suddenly the lips are gone and there are two big, strong hands on his hips. They hold him down, keeping him in place, and a surprised noise rips itself out of House’s mouth. His stomach twists painfully in pleasure, the simple act of being forced down into the mattress surprisingly erotic.

 

Or not so surprisingly, considering his gender. It feels wrong, the pleasure licking up his spine, a pleasure born of being dominated when he’s lived his entire life attempting to be completely in control.

 

Wilson is murmuring something softly, one of those hands, skilled hands, doctor’s hands, petting up towards House’s stomach. He tries to focus on it instead of the warring of his instincts and his body.

 

“I have to get up, just for a second, House,” Wilson is saying. “Just for a second, just so I can get my clothes off.”

 

The idea makes House’s skin burn even brighter, but he still gives a little nod of his head. It’s only a few seconds, only a brief moment of time that Wilson’s touch is gone. His weight doesn’t even disappear from the bed, just shifts momentarily, but House still finds the absence incredibly disturbing. Logically he knows he’s not alone. Wilson is __right there__. His body doesn’t seem to fucking care what his brain has to say though. It screams out in near panic, pushing a high note up his throat that he traps resolutely behind his teeth.

 

“Sorry, sorry.” A warm hand cups his cheek again, trails down his throat to rest right over his collar bone. “God, you’re far gone. That was fast. I forgot what helping someone through a heat was like.”

 

The touch settles House. “Three omega wives and you don’t remember any of their heats?” he tries to quip, but his voice is shaky.

 

Wilson just smiles this tight little bashful smile that looks completely at odds with the flush of arousal down his chest and his big alpha cock hanging thick between his legs. “In my defense, I was kind of crazy about someone else while I was with them.”

 

“I wouldn’t be proud of that if I were you. I-” Wilson shuts him up with another kiss, and this time it’s so much better because House can feel Wilson’s bare chest against his own. He reaches up and sinks a hand into Wilson’s hair, knotting his fingers tightly so he can pull Wilson’s head to the side and guide the kiss, control it. It feels right and wrong at the same time again, and something in him expects Wilson to object to it. Violently, maybe. But Wilson just hums happily into his mouth, flicks his tongue along House’s lips until House lets him in.

 

It’s nice. It’s hot. They kiss for what feels like hours, one of Wilson’s hands petting lightly up and down House’s chest, and House pushing and pulling at Wilson’s hair as he pleases. Eventually though, he gets fed up. He pushes Wilson away firmly, panting when he finally has the space to breathe properly.

 

Wilson blinks dumbly down at him. “Problem?” he asks, voice rough.

 

House glares. “As much as I enjoy necking like teenagers, I’m kind of burning up over here. Either fuck me or go out and buy me a knotting dildo.”

 

The demand makes Wilson flush a little, but he doesn’t seem displeased. His voice is even rougher, deeper, when he asks, “Are you ready?”

 

“Am I- __Yes__  I’m ready, James! What part of ‘fuck me’ are you not understanding? Should I romanticize it for you, maybe write you a gilded invitation?” He has to have been hard for like, an hour now, and his blood is starting to reach something of a boil in his veins.

 

“Snippy,” Wilson says with amusement, and House would snap at him again but he’s repositioning himself between House’s thighs so House really can’t complain. The left one opens easily enough, spreading wide to make room for Wilson, but the right twinges and doesn’t want to move properly. Wilson doesn’t seem to mind, just adjusts himself accordingly so that House doesn’t have to move the ruined leg as much as possible. How considerate. The action makes House flare with affection all over again, which makes him scowl.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Fine, get on with it.”

 

Wilson’s eyes have gone dark again, half hooded. He’s got one hand on House’s bad thigh, a calming, cool weight, and the other is trailing teasing fingertips down House’s cock. The touch is there and gone, just enough to make House press up into it, wanting more. “You smell…”

 

“Terrible, I know,” House snarls because he does, he knows. His pheromones, so long suppressed, and still tainted with alpha hormones, are twisted and sour. They’ll probably never smell enticing with how long he’s been fucking up his body.

 

But Wilson shakes his head. “No,” he says, ignoring the little gasp when he pulls House’s left leg over his arm and presses firm fingers to where he’s hot and wet. “You smell amazing. Even when you presented as an alpha I thought you smelled good. Now you’re just…amazing.”

 

House’s mouth has fallen open, nerve endings firing randomly up and down his body as those fingers circle gently, testing him. He wants to protest, wants to suggest maybe Wilson visit an ENT to get his sinuses checked out because obviously they’re not working properly. But Wilson’s fingers slip in to the first knuckle, easy as you please, and House barely has enough air to breathe much less speak.

 

“There you go,” Wilson murmurs, even as House grits his teeth and resists the urge to bow his spine. They’re just __fingers__  but there’s fire licking up his body in waves, hotter even than his boiling blood. He can feel sweat breaking out on his brow and the small of his back as they move slowly in and out of him, oh so intimate, and distantly he thinks that with as much fluid as his body is producing he’s going to be dehydrated soon.

 

“Wilson,” he finally manages to grit out between his grinding teeth. Immediately the other man pauses, meets House’s gaze with worry clear in his expression. But House just shakes his head and licks his lips, able to think a little more clearly when those fingers are buried in him but not moving. “Can we skip the fucking prep? I’m producing enough slick you could probably fit your entire fist up there.”

 

Wilson, flushed red with arousal, somehow manages to flush even more as he ducks his head and clears his throat. “Uh. Well, I know we didn’t talk about it, but I kind of figured that, well, with the heat and all-”

 

“Get on with it,” House growls. “I’m not going to be sane for much longer here.”

 

“Well I just figured you’d want to be knotted.”

 

Considering being knotted by an alpha is literally the best and only thing to truly treat an omega’s heat House would say that yes, he’d been expecting that. He tries to convey how stupid he thinks Wilson is being right now with one scathing look.

 

Amazingly Wilson blushes again. “It’s just…my knot. It’s kind of… _ _big__.”

 

Like a Pavlovian response, House’s gaze is dragged down Wilson’s body. His cock does look pretty girthy, though it’s not the biggest House has ever seen. Of course most of the dicks he’s ever seen have been in porn and not in person, and he’s willing to admit that being up close and personal does make a difference. For instance, none of the dicks in porn have ever made his mouth water and his body flush with want. It’s a nice cock he thinks. Pretty, almost. Fat and heavy, curved just a touch to the left, uncircumcised of course. There are drops of pre-cum collecting in the folds of skin covering the tip, and the base is already starting to bulge just a touch with the beginning of a knot.

 

House really wants to get his mouth on that.

 

Instead, he leans his weight on his palms and surges up. Wilson meets him halfway, leaning down to capture House’s lips in a rough, messy kiss. House growls in the back of his throat, fingers finding Wilson’s hair again as he yanks the younger man down on top of him, ignoring the flair of pain in his thigh. Almost everything is starting to get painful now, too sensitized.

 

Wilson makes this lovely little noise when House rakes his nails down his back, so he does it again and again until Wilson is panting against him, unable to keep up the kiss for need of air. A few times Wilson seems to open his mouth, probably to keep asking if all of this is okay, but House just wraps his good leg around Wilson’s hip, trying to silently urge him forward instead.

 

It takes a little fumbling, Wilson propping himself up on one hand, the other on his dick, and House pressing his heel insistently into Wilson’s back, before they’re actually successful.

 

The initial press of Wilson’s cock against him has all the air knocking out of House’s lungs. He must make some kind of noise because Wilson glances up at him, their eyes locking as the alpha slowly, so slowly, sinks into him. Wilson’s gaze is hooded and hot, burning, and House can tell his own eyes are slits as he tries to manage his breathing. But his body is alight with sensation, a confusing mixture of pleasure and pain that has his thoughts skittering away in unfamiliar patterns. He has to close his eyes entirely at the first experimental roll of Wilson’s hips, has to bite his lip when Wilson makes this noise of pure pleasure.

 

“God, you’re tight.”

 

House lets out a choked laugh but doesn’t bother saying he hasn’t had anything up his ass since he was thirteen and presenting. And that certainly hadn’t felt like this; all consuming, world shattering, unbearably good.

 

When Wilson doesn’t move again House slants his eyes open irritably, seeking out the flushed face above his. He frames it in his hands, digs his thumbs into the spot beside Wilson’s eyes, pinkies finding purchase just behind the alpha’s ears.

 

“For the __last__ goddamn time,” he growls, voice ragged and nearly unrecognizable to himself. “ _ _Fuck. Me.__ ”

 

Something hard flashes in Wilson’s eyes, a little bright dominant something that House never sees except for in the middle of a heated argument. And then broad hands are framing his hips and Wilson is __slamming__ into him.

 

House cries out, pleasure arcing up his spine so intensely he can feel it in the base of his skull, spine coming off the bed, fingers finding purchased in the pillow behind him.

 

It’s a brutal pace after that, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing obscenely around them. House has never considered himself particularly vocal in bed, but now he’s crying out hoarsely every few thrusts, the sounds fucked out of him by the precise way Wilson is battering his prostate. And Wilson. Wilson is making these beautiful punched out noises, all breathless from exertion and rough with pleasure. His fingers are digging bruises into House’s hips and yet somehow, simultaneously, he’s making sure House’s bad thigh is being jostled as little as possible. It’s still rough treatment, and there’s a steady burning climbing up House’s hip, but through the pleasure of being __full,__ of no longer being alone in his own body, the smooth, sweet friction inside of him, he barely notices the pain.

 

“Fuck,” House hisses on a particularly brutal thrust and Wilson give a breathless laugh.

 

“Yeah, working on it,” he says, smile splitting his lips briefly.

 

And really, that’s just unfair. It’s not fair that Wilson can make House laugh during sex, can make his House’s lips twitch upwards when his entire body is being rocked with sensation. So unfair that he has to pull Wilson down to him to kiss that stupid smile away.

 

It ruins their momentum for a moment, Wilson faltering as they readjust to the new position. They’re so close now it doesn’t allow for much movement, but Wilson puts a hand under House’s hip to tilt him up a little and starts this slow dirty grind that has House seeing stars.

 

“Jesus.” This time it’s Wilson’s turn to cuss, his mouth pressing sloppy kisses down House’s jaw to his throat.

 

House gives a husky laugh, tipping his chin back to give the other man room to work with. “I mean I guess you can call me that. I’ve certainly been accused of having a god complex.”

 

Wilson mutters something uncomplimentary into his skin, but in the end it’s really not that important. Not with the intoxicating feeling of skin on skin filling up House’s mind, or the incredible sensation of Wilson’s cock never actually leaving his prostate, the grinding just changing up the amount of pressure put on it. He could cry it feels so good.

 

He ends up coming when Wilson bites him harshly right where shoulder meets neck. House cries out in surprise, and then again as he feels his entire body tighten up with bright, searing pressure. Wilson groans in response, then pulls back so he has more room to thrust.

 

Even with the orgasm still working through House’s body, Wilson’s cock feels incredible inside of him. Even more so when House can feel a distinct tugging as that fat knot swells. And swells. And __swells.__

__

“Holy __fuck__ ,” he breathes when its so big that Wilson is just kind of rocking against him, no longer able to pull it out. Wilson wasn’t fucking kidding about the size. It feels like he’s got a horse cock or something shoved up there, too huge, taking up so much space he aches with it.

 

Wilson gives a soft little moan in response, obviously lost in his own orgasm judging by the look of bliss on his face. House gives him a minute or two, and then starts impatiently patting at the alpha’s face.

 

Slowly Wilson’s eyes open, and even more slowly his gaze focuses on House. “Wha?”

 

House raises an eyebrow. “Rise and shine Mr. I cum and fall asleep. I know you’re all blissed out on endorphins right now, but you’re kind of heavy and my fucking leg hurts.”

 

Wilson seems to scramble back to awareness at that, and between the two of them they manage to find a position where a) House can snag some more Vicodin, and b) Wilson isn’t putting any pressure on his leg. It’s not exactly a prime sleeping experience, but with the events of the night catching up to him and his body finally pausing in its quest to rip itself apart at the seams, he manages to settle down.

 

He’s just started to drift off when he hears Wilson curse quietly, followed by, “I can’t believe I forgot to ask you about birth control.”

 

oOo

 

House wakes up __screaming.__

 

Forget his body being on fire. This feels like every single muscle is being flayed from his bones, twisted, tossed aside, his tendons yanked on until they snap sickeningly, every organ crushed between unforgiving palms until they’re nothing more than a bloody pulp.

 

Vaguely he’s aware of a voice at his ear, hands on his body, but he flinches violently from every touch, eyes wide open and unseeing, mouth stretched open obscenely as his throat shreds itself to ribbons. He thrashes when he feels something settle over top of him, feels his arm stretched out and held down.

 

“Sorry,” someone says distantly. “I’m sorry, I know you said you didn’t want this.”

 

There comes a pin prick, barely felt between the agony of his shoulder bones splintering and reforming just to splinter again, and the torture of all the nerves in his hand being plucked one by one, each pulse another spike of unbearable pain.

 

And then…then a rush of cool, sweet __nothingness__.

 

oOo

 

The next time he wakes up, he’s not entirely sure he’s awake. There are flashes of pleasure and pain and hot, breathy moans, a mouth kissing and biting at the back of his neck. There’s pressure inside him and he’s rocking against it, seeking it out until it swells to a rising crescendo and he falls back into the darkness.

 

oOo

 

Somewhere in the three days it takes House’s body to finish brutally punishing him, they decide they’re both particularly bad examples of their respective genders. Outliers. Not to be counted with the rest of the study lest they throw off the results.

 

They decide this mostly by having House fuck Wilson, repeatedly, in between rounds of Wilson fucking House. They enjoy both versions. Immensely. When House tops it’s not the same as being knotted of course, but it has it’s own pleasures that come from holding down and pushing and, for a little while, watching Wilson fall to pieces above him while House lays back and enjoys the show. Something about it makes settling beneath Wilson later easier, lets him actually arch his back and beg, just a little, without everything in him screaming against it.

 

oOo

 

On noon of the fourth day, House finally feels the last of the heat leave him. It’s a slow process and is similar to the sensation of coming down from a high fever. But once he’s sure it’s gone he breathes a sigh of relief and tries to take stock of himself.

 

Wilson is asleep next to him for one, naked as the day he was born. They both are in fact, and covered in sweat, slick, cum, and teeth marks galore. So much in fact that just shifting has House grimacing in distaste and discomfort. The bed isn’t in much better shape, but he won’t know if he managed to protect the mattress until he has a chance to pull all the ruined linens off it. Later though.

 

For now, he needs a shower.

 

His cane is…nowhere to be seen, actually. Fantastic. It takes him a few moments to navigate his way into the bathroom, mostly because the floor is littered with empty water bottles and the remnants of Wilson’s attempts to keep House healthy during…all of that. He does not envy the other man in that regard. Though his memories are blurry he knows for sure that his condition hadn’t been pretty. He can’t even blame Wilson for going against his wishes and sedating him.  

 

But Wilson had stayed through all of it. He’d probably had to have called into work at some point, for both of them, and still he’d stayed.

 

The thought makes something almost familiar now flutter in House’s gut. If it keeps up he’s going to name it soon. His very own personal case of Wilson Syndrome. Symptoms; happiness, butterflies in the stomach, a touch of annoyance, a touch of fondness, and an extreme urge to jump Wilson’s bones. Probably incurable. He’s terminal.

 

He’s also going to stop thinking terrible, sappy thoughts any second now.

 

The shower feels absolutely amazing on his battered skin, but he’s so exhausted by the time he’s done that he decides he’s probably going to need tomorrow off too. Hopefully he can pass the whole thing off as a stomach bug or something.

 

A stomach bug that Wilson needed to be here for.

 

A stomach bug that left him with bruises in unusual places and injection marks in the crooks of his elbows. That left his voice hoarse and limbs shaking, nerves shot after battling so much sensation at once.

 

Maybe they’d believe he had a complete mental breakdown more.

 

House dresses and manages to find his cane in the corner of the bedroom. He then uses it to repeatedly whap Wilson on the shoulder until he other man finally rolls over with a snort, red sleep lines all over his face and dark bags under his eyes.  

 

“Wha- House?” he asks, rubbing blearily at his face. “You okay?”

 

“Get up and clean the bed,” House rumbles at him, finding his throat even more sore than he thought it was. With that single order given he hobbles his way to the kitchen, popping a Vidocain as he goes, to get something to eat.

 

He’s standing at the counter when warm but tentative hands circle his waist. He leans back into the hold easily enough, and can feel Wilson give a little sigh of relief against his skin, right where he’d bitten House that first night.

 

“House,” he murmurs, and it’s his serious ‘we need to talk’ voice. House stiffens, but Wilson’s arms tighten around him and he hurries on before House can start trying to deflect. “Look. I don’t really want you on the hormones anymore, but that’s your choice and I won’t stand in your way. But please, for the love of god, do not push off your heat like that again. It was…terrifying. I had to sedate you several times because you wouldn’t stop screaming and there was nothing else I could do to help. And I know you didn’t want me to but…” His voice is starting to crack on the last few words, and that sound of pain makes something uncomfortable roll in House’s gut.

 

Twisting in Wilson’s grip, House turns to face the alpha. He’s taller than Wilson. Not by much, but enough that he has to look down when they’re this close together. Despite the worry in those pretty eyes, the unhappy pinch of Wilson’s lips, House tilts his mouth into a smirk that he doesn’t completely feel. He should comfort Wilson. Should tell the man that he understands his concern, doesn’t mind that had Wilson had to sedate him, is honestly flattered Wilson cares this much to try and intervene. Instead what comes out is, “Well. If you want me to have regular heats, doctor, I’m definitely going to need to find an alpha to help me through them.”

 

Wilson visibly sags with relief, resting his forehead against House’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “I can do that. I can definitely do that for you.”

 

House slides his fingers into the hair on the back of Wilson’s head, holding the man in place against him. They stand like that for a long, long time, breathing in comfort from each other. When Wilson finally lifts his head tiredly, it’s to say, “Please tell me you’re on some kind of birth control.”

 

House rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Pretty sure I’m sterile after all the hormones.”

 

Wilson gives a nod like he was expecting that answer, then steps away. “Yeah, okay. Well, I still want to get you tested when we go in tomorrow.”

 

That makes House pause. He’s fucking __exhausted__ but he also doesn’t want to admit to it. Part because it’s revealing weakness, but more because he hates the matching look of exhaustion in Wilson’s eyes and doesn’t want to make the man worry any more than he already is.

 

“Or,” he says, sliding a hand along Wilson’s hip and pulling him back towards House. “We could stay in tonight, stay in tomorrow, and go in the day after that. Worry abut the pregnancy test then.”

 

There’s a moment of hesitation, a pause, and then Wilson leans back against him with a sigh. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, that sounds good.”  

**Author's Note:**

> if you like I have a [tumblr](scribespirare.tumblr.com/) where I take requests. come chill with me


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